Poetry


In Spring, After She Calls Me

when wet cheeks crash against

the seat and hazel eyes drip down

her words--childhood slamming

against the car like wind

 

Sink Hollow 2021 Contest Issue


Whiskey-dick:

the reason Alex told me he couldn’t slide himself in.
I understand.
On a couch, we’d drained the whiskey--
apple spiced and swirled cinnamon.

 

Beyond Queer Words: A Collection of Poems


I Like to Sweep

I like to hide them there
so that the dismantling work we do
in therapy doesn't have to include
me.

 

Sink Hollow 2020 Contest Issue


Painting a One-night

The lifeblood of the culture.
Beauty in non-solidity. Doorbells
that ring like knocks on wood.

 

Sink Hollow 20217 Contest Issue